


Wrong Way

by kuwdora



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Bondage, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Violence, issues of dubious consent, violent sexual imagery against women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuwdora/pseuds/kuwdora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt might not have had the best relationship with Janice but at least she never slept with him with the intention of killing him after she came.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong Way

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Heroes Anonymous Kink Meme](http://perdiccas.livejournal.com/5334.html) for the prompt: Sylar/Matt: "This is all about Mohinder." "Let's not tell him that, it'll just feed his ego."

The moment Sylar’s lips reached his neck, Matt didn’t care that this was Sylar, a momma’s boy turned psychopath with epic delusions of grandeur, touching him. Everything else took a backseat when Sylar pressed his bulge against his waist which Matt groped, despising the layers between them. Sylar nudged his arms out of the way and pushed his shirt up, dragging his fingers along Matt’s sides. Matt shrugged beneath his grip and his own fingers tripped over themselves, trying to undo Sylar’s black jeans. The frustrated noise that escaped Sylar was torn between wanting to release the pressure building in his pants and wanting Matt naked and beneath him _right now_. Sylar leaned into him, opting for an open-mouthed kiss and snaked his arms around his neck and waist instead. Matt reached to cup Sylar’s face and something twinged deep inside the rat’s maze of Sylar’s head when he ran his thumbs along the grainy length of skin. Matt repeated the motion without much thought and Sylar groaned so deep that Matt felt it shudder through his own body, making his cock ache.

Sylar parted Matt’s mouth so far open that he thought his jaw would dislocate before Sylar’s tongue could reach the back of his throat. The gears inside Sylar’s head were shifting: _improvise_ —toy, toy, fuck, fuck, _toy_. Matt didn’t have time to realize what Sylar meant because Sylar licked his index finger, slid it down Matt’s pants and pushed inside of him. Matt winced and bit down on Sylar’s lip, the tightness hurting like the sonofabitch he had between his teeth. As he got used to the feel of Sylar inside of him, the pain gave way to the ebb of pleasure and he couldn’t help but groan in the cliched pornographic way that he’d always laughed his ass off at—but he and his ass certainly weren’t laughing now. Sylar took his time getting his finger in as far as he could manage with the strange angle and Matt’s jeans and Matt couldn’t help but get the faint impression that there was some kind of canned laughter going on behind Sylar’s features. It was a fleeting feeling because Matt had to rest his head on Sylar’s shoulder, unable to keep himself from stuttering when the fucker twisted his finger. Matt twitched even more when Sylar’s other fingers danced up his spine, twisting in the cotton folds that bunched at his shoulders before they made their way caress the side of his face, focusing particular attention on his sideburn.

Sylar used his nose to tilt Matt’s head up to kiss him, probing tongue and lips losing the finesse they originally had in favor of sloppier, more haphazard kisses. Matt’s hands gravitated to Sylar’s waist, undoing the button and zipper, all too eager to give back, but toy, toy, fuck, fuck, toy with a finger in his ass? It felt like Matt was purposely driving on the opposite side of the road, playing chicken with a semi-truck, pedal pushed _all_ the way to the metal. He shoved Sylar’s pants down wrapped his hand tightly around the hard member, giving him a hard stroke. Matt grunted when Sylar pulled his finger out and slid all ten to clench his ass. He rubbed Sylar’s leaking cock with a thumb and Sylar’s hands locked like the jaws of fucking life around his waist. Matt thumbed it again and Sylar’s lips parted into a positively dirty grin, like a fault line was splitting somewhere beneath the surface. It made Matt’s stomach sink, as if he was being engulfed by the chasm in front of him but he wasn’t because Sylar was holding him so tightly that he was sure that he’d bruise. Matt pumped several more times and Sylar’s writhing was distraction enough from the off-kilter expression.

Matt was looking _at_ him, not _in_ , but for some reason something inside Sylar’s head was so focused on thumb rings of all things that it was like spotting Rudolph on a foggy Christmas Eve. He couldn’t _not_ see it, but he couldn’t see it clearly. Matt didn’t have the sense to make sense of whatever the fuck was going on inside the psychopath’s head—he’d seen sicker and scarier things than that inside there anyway—because Sylar stepped out of his pants and was guiding him backwards to the bed. Matt landed with more than a bounce—bigger they are, et cetera, but it didn’t seem to bother Sylar in the least because he was climbing onto the bed right after him.

Sylar looked nothing less than proud, cock straining in front of him, as he towered above Matt’s prostrate body. Matt finally wriggled free of his shirt and tossed it somewhere above his head and Sylar followed suit, his body looking even longer and more chiseled as he took his time pulling the shirt by the hem all the way up and over his head. _Toy_ —it annoyed Matt; that fucking tease. He unabashedly reached for Sylar’s cock and parted his legs, allowing Sylar to ease onto his willing body. Sylar radiated such heat and enthusiasm that it was making Matt’s balls turn into an even brighter shade of blue than his fucking jeans that confined them. Sylar shifted his hips so that his cock ground against Matt’s waist, making him squirm and claw at Sylar’s back.

Matt roughly grabbed Sylar by the nape of his neck and his eyes slid out of focus when Sylar swiftly undid his pants and final-fucking-ly grabbed his cock. Matt managed to open his eyes and it was as if he was looking at Sylar through an empty beer bottle—opaque and brown. Matt blinked several times and tilted his head away from Sylar for a breather but Sylar followed him, leaning in for yet another mouth-engorging kiss like, ironically enough, a fucking cannibal. Matt didn’t get where Sylar was coming from with all the lip-locking, but more importantly he couldn’t blink the glassy film from his eyes which begun to burn like he’d gotten sand in them. He almost wanted to sit up see what was going on, but Sylar squeezed his balls and it felt _great_ , even if he was distracted as fuck. He let Sylar kiss and squeeze him like a damn chew toy while he tried to blink the gunk from his eyes, but now was not the time for lashes in his eyes, not when Sylar was stroking his cock raw. Matt worried about opening his eyes and the tears streaming down either side of his face because crying during sex would be the last thing he want to be accused of. Or the second to last thing—fucking around with Sylar would be the last. He wouldn’t be able to come up with a decent explanation for the tears except maybe to say he was allergic to serial killers with a god complex. He had no excuse for fucking around with Sylar.

His cock still ached, but it was Sylar’s body that was really coiled with tension and anticipation. Matt shut his eyes and mentally pushed the tears aside and pulled Sylar closer, their cocks rubbing together. It didn’t stave off his irritation, but it still felt damn good. Sylar began to rock into his body and Matt tried to push his own jeans off completely but Sylar put a quick end to that idea when he swiped Matt’s wrists and pinned them above his head. Sylar exuded pure smugness, relaxing into him and angling his cock just right enough to make him squirm even more. Matt didn’t have to see Sylar in order to know how well defined his body was, the smooth pectoral muscles, thin sheen of sweat between them and fine chest hair pressed against his mediocre tableau of skin. It was absolutely perfect in the wrongest way possible.

He felt Sylar’s shallow breath in the crook of his neck, trying to figure out where to go next. Matt groaned wantonly, pushing his eager cock to Sylar’s body when he realized that Sylar was considering going down to finish him off. When Sylar drew himself up, the sandpapery brush of his cheek against Matt’s jaw was like drawing a curtain open and Matt could see what was there, spotlight full and illuminating. _Mohinder._ Black curls, long fingertips methodically clacking across a keyboard, memories of shared chai and purple bruising coloring skin beneath bandaged nose… Matt blinked rapidly, trying to sort out what was going on. Needles, defiant eyes and blood… The roiling anger beneath the veneer of Sylar’s arousal, it was _immense_. He took a deep breath, still completely flushed, and tried to find his voice.

"This is all about Mohinder,” Matt said.

His surprise and disbelief was lost on Sylar who pushed himself to his knees, eyes flicking to Matt’s upright cock, amused. Sylar reached to give him an easygoing stroke with no intention of seeing him come just yet, smirk cresting his face when he locked eyes with him again. For once in his life, Sylar wasn’t going to pretend or even try to pretend because he couldn’t, not in the presence of a telepath; Sylar found it vaguely cathartic. Matt thought it was more than creepy.

Sylar hated the fact that he was loving this with a passion that equalled the thrill he got from chasing terrified, innocent people, but the psychological hard-on that he got when he was cornering and goading Mohinder was even more of a head trip than Matt could fathom. He didn’t know why he couldn’t see it before, but whatever the reason he wanted to back away from the climactic edge he found himself on.

Sylar slowly tightened his hold on Matt’s wrists, tilting his head in curiosity and leaned in close. Matt exhaled just as slow at Sylar’s movements, stomach doing somersaults, unable to fully digest the tumult of emotions going on behind the scenes. Sylar really did loathe the base, animalistic desire that Mohinder had somehow unhinged inside of him. Mohinder was a cramp in his style, something that always dogged him in the back of his mind. Sylar was able to put up a decent front, always able to retain some semblance of control when dealing with Mohinder, enjoying their parlay of words and mutually assured threats of destruction. Sylar was so sure that Mohinder didn’t see anything past the harangue of threats where beyond the anger, amusement and irritation, other more subversive feelings were tucked away and quarantined. Matt tried twisting his wrists free but Sylar’s grip was vice-like. He wasn’t sure if he survived this if he’d have the heart to explain to Mohinder that the reason for his survival might be more than his cure-all blood or ability to fence with words.

Sooner or later Sylar was going to snap in a way they hadn’t seen before. Matt could see it; the predatory glint in Sylar’s eyes and the memories of how he had an overwhelming urge to telekinetically slice open his victims from the other side of the cereal box and poke around before taking his special prize. Matt’s heart and stomach bottomed out when he began teasing the specific recollection free, where Sylar had traced a line from a woman’s ass to her clit, fingers twisted in the gnarled pubic hair, wondering how good it’d feel to open her up then and there and try her out for himself. He didn’t though. He just copped a decent feel that left her bleeding—Sylar thought she must have been a virgin—and him feeling more empty and disappointed than anything else when he opened her head and took her ability.

Matt unsuccessfully shifted beneath Sylar’s considering stare. A horny Sylar was one thing to deal with at the moment, but the fact that this had been going on for some time and started over Mohinder made Matt even more uncomfortable. He wondered how much Sylar would have benefited from porn or prostitutes back when he was a pansy watchmaker; if it was his choir boy background that fucked him up that much. Matt didn’t have time to sort through the garbled past Sylar had partitioned in his brain, he had other things to focus on—namely on how quickly Sylar planned on on killing him after this.

Sylar’s smirk bled into a wry grin and he suddenly let go of his wrists. Sylar wrenched his jeans down his ass and ankles and grabbed his cock, pumping until Matt shamelessly cried aloud, arched into his hand, shooting so hard Sylar, had to lean away to avoid being caught in the face. Matt strung together as many silent expletives in sync to Sylar’s moving fist that he couldn’t manage to choke out. Sylar’s other hand abruptly pressed him back to the bed and Matt strained against him, fumbling to touch something, anything. His fingers graced Sylar’s forearm but found their real anchor on his elbow during the first hefty spurts. Sylar took his time working the orgasm from his cock as if it was his for the taking, just like everything else was, until the milky fluid and shudders ceased. When he finished, Sylar squeezed the soft member and dropped it unceremoniously. Matt sighed, body tingling from the release, unsure if he’d ever be able to move again. He kept his eyes closed; he didn’t know how he’d react if he saw his spunk all over the taut muscle of Sylar’s abdomen. Sylar pressed a moist kiss to his thumping carotid and nuzzled the side of his face. Matt could feel the bastard smiling on the inside.

“Let’s not tell him that, it’ll just feed his ego,” he whispered.

Matt exhaled loudly, an unsteady hand coming to rest on Sylar’s hip who sat up and made room for his cock. Matt opened his eyes and raised his head from the bed. Sylar was wiping the stickiness from his own stomach and running it along the curve of Matt’s, fingers sliding along the patches of sweat that’d accumulated there. He seemed rather focused on the task at hand instead of his hardened cock. Matt swatted his hand away but Sylar grabbed Matt’s hand and threw it back at him, smiling. Matt’s narrowed his eyebrows. Maybe it was because he wasn’t so hard and distracted anymore that he could read him better, Sylar was fucking _wistful_ that was that it wasn’t Mohinder lying beneath him, sated and whole. Matt frowned, trying to reconcile the fact, though a tiny part of him could understand the appeal. That didn’t mean he didn’t find Sylar’s feelings a riot.

“Oh, that’s _rich_ ,” he said with a laugh, letting his head fall back to the bed with a bounce. The serial killing, brain-snatching man hell-bent on achieving as much power and notoriety as possible, ego the size of Russia, became crusty with sentimentality when there was semen and thoughts of Mohinder involved.

Sylar patted Matt on the stomach before getting off the bed.

Matt got up onto his elbows and shook his head, still trying to quell the _fightfightflee_ instinct that simmered. He had to tread carefully, not knowing exactly what steps to take to either kill Sylar or escape and forget anything had happened. Finding The Haitian would be a good priority after this. Problem was, Matt couldn’t remember where his gun was and hand-to-hand wasn’t going to cut it as long as Sylar had his powers. The alarms started going off inside his head.

Sylar turned to grin at him and walked backwards across the room. Matt eventually rolled himself up, his body rather uncooperative in it’s post-orgasm haze, but adrenaline was helping him out with that. He and scooted to the edge of the bed, eyes flicking around to look for potential weapons and advantages he could use, but there was nothing except a dresser, open closet full of clothes and night-stand beside the queen size bed. A large framed photograph of twin boys sitting on a beach with the guy who was probably their father in the background sat facing the bed.

Matt’s gaze kept drifting back to Sylar as if by sheer magnetism. Sylar was giving himself a few easy strokes as he stretched his legs, getting the blood flowing in all parts of the body and only pausing his fondling to open up the dresser.

“The Boogeyman actually has something that looks like human feelings,” Matt said, unable to keep from staring at Sylar’s ass and worse yet, Sylar knew it. Sylar turned, pouring lube into his hands, watching Matt, waiting for him to say it aloud.

“You actually _like_ him,” Matt said. He couldn’t not say something like that aloud. He shook his head, eyes still lingering on the hardened cock, slightly amazed that Sylar hadn’t blown his load by now from the heavy grinding and frequent strokes. Matt toyed with the possibility of sending Sylar into a coma. Trap him inside his own fucked-up head like he did with Maury. Stop him here and now before he had a chance to finish and kill again.

Sylar and smiled broadly, bouncing a thought back at him that Matt refused to acknowledge: _just like you do_.

It was hypnotic, watching Sylar cover his cock with the silky lube and slowly pump. Sylar crossing the room barely registered on Matt’s radar until was flat on his back again. Sylar pulled him further up onto the sheets with what was an unusual amount of strength and bore his weight on his waist, his hands gliding over Matt’s forearms to pin his wrists to either side of his head. Sylar eyed him expectedly, brows raised, humor apparent in his face. He wanted to hear Matt continue since he couldn’t say the words himself. Matt wasn’t in the mood to entertain him but Sylar was already counting the ways he was going to use Matt’s abilities, how much fun it’d be picking up other gifts and confronting Mohinder. Mohinder… Matt recalled what he did in situations with Sylar—he did humor him, stall him with words. If Sylar’s memories were any indicator, Mohinder was never caught in this kind of situation where Sylar’s cock was inches away from his ass, ready to enjoy his moment for as long as possible since he couldn’t have the real thing. Matt was grateful for that.

“If you could, deep down you’d pretend to be someone else so you could be with him,” Matt laughed again, and tried to pull his hands free—it was exactly what Sylar would be expecting at this point, but he was going to pull a muscle at this rate. “That’s why you like this: pretend someone else is Mohinder so you can get your rocks off and then make Mohinder see someone other than you.”

Sylar released Matt’s hands and when Matt tried to follow to with a right hook, he found the telekinetic pressure binding his wrists to the marble-colored bedspread. Matt mentally backtracked as Sylar parted his knees and inserted a slick finger into his ass.

Matt hissed and he felt a little bit of the telekinetic pressure loosen from his body, allowing him room to arch. “After you kill me, you’ll be best off making Mohinder think you’re a woman. He’s not into cock,” he said, concentrating on separating each word from one another. The pressure inside of him was so good, but ultimately wrong and getting worse as Sylar pushed beyond the first knuckle.

“Niki Sanders should do the trick,” he said and let out a twisted sigh when Sylar made room to insert a second finger. “You should remember her. She hit you with a parking meter once,” he said, his laugh becoming mangled into a groan when Sylar’s fingers became fucking _frigid_ inside of him. Matt remembered when his life used to be easy, when he was simply a cop and his weapon was a gun. He’d shoot and cuff the bad guys and send them to jail. Matt never wanted to play mind games like this, but it’s what he’s been doing to survive and save lives over the past year and a half. Most of the time it got him into more trouble than he bargained for, often straddling the line of life and death, kind of like now. Sex, too, used to be far less complicated. Matt might not have had the best relationship with Janice but at least she never slept with him with the intention of killing him after she came… not that he knew of, anyway. Telepathy didn’t come until the end of their relationship.

“Mohinder’ll never admit to liking blondes. Deep down he still wants to please his mother by starting a family back in India. Tradition, ” Matt said, unable to remember if he was telling the truth, lying for the sake of lying or—

“Jesus fuck,” Matt gasped. Sylar was fingering him in earnest now and his other hand landed on Matt’s hip. It was unfuckingbelieveable the way he felt so pliable in Sylar’s hands, moving just the way Sylar wanted. Matt tried to stifle his breath and regroup while Sylar moved around inside.

 _No. Stop_ — Matt thought, _stop now_.

The pressure eased inside of him as Sylar pulled out completely, though the pressure on his arms still remained.

Sylar clicked his tongue, his interest piqued and the image of a woman with a pixie haircut fluttered to the surface—blood and glass at his feet and blood and disappointment lingering on his fingertips. “Did you say something? I’m not quite sure I heard it through the moaning,” he said, leaning into Matt’s line of sight, grinning.

“You heard me,” Matt said.

Sylar’s fingers danced across the rise and fall of Matt’s chest, trying to find where the bullet wounds used to be while Matt wished he could forget the bullets he took last year. He swore to himself that he wasn’t going to face Sylar unprepared ever again, and yet here he was, naked and essentially tied to a bed by a psychotic killer who had a hard-on for the man Matt lived with.

Sylar pressed a thumb squarely into Matt’s chest, chuckling and Matt thought it was probably for the best that he couldn’t remember where his gun was. He didn’t want a repeat of Kirby Plaza after all.

Matt had to take a different approach this time around.

Matt stared at the ceiling, slack-jawed. It wasn’t a good sign that Sylar was losing interest, wanting to skip ahead and crack his skull open right now, fascinated by the way he complied with the order. Matt wasn’t sure if it was fortunate for him that Sylar’s cock was harder than he could ignore.

Sylar shimmied down Matt’s body, moved the limp cock out of the way and parted his legs. It wasn’t until several moments later that Matt felt Sylar’s tongue at his opening, tentative at first.

“Oh, fuck,” _fuckfuckfuckfuck_ … Matt whined pitifully, finding more room to squirm and unable to keep himself from leaning into the soft, wet tongue, wanting more. Sylar buried himself deep into Matt, cradling his balls, giving him the mouthful that he’d experienced earlier on on his lips. Matt grunted, giving over to the pressure of Sylar’s tongue. Matt would easily become hard again if Sylar kept up and worse, he wasn’t sure that he minded. Matt continued writhing, hating himself for wanting, but he was able to pick up on something else going on past the rhythmic lapping and it’s minute pauses as Sylar re-adjusted his hands and tongue. Sylar blew into his opening, forcing a laugh and cry from Matt at the same time, helping Matt realize it was Sylar’s first time doing this.

“I didn’t know I’d be the one to help build the mighty Sylar’s confidence in bed,” Matt said, finding himself able to squeeze Sylar with his thighs a little. Sylar sat up again and smirked, cupping Matt’s hips. Matt’s stomach began to sink again when saw Sylar’s familiar anger surface.

“Don’t worry, no one will know,” Sylar said, angling Matt’s hips up and began pushing in, filling him with burning pressure and horror. Matt couldn’t go through with this, not when it was happening this way.

 _You’re going to come right now_ , Matt thought.

Sylar quirked an eyebrow at Matt but his own face suddenly contorted into a hideous grin of pleasure. Matt grimaced and tried pulling away.

 _Pull out and come_ , Matt quickly said.

His body began to ease back down on the bed, Sylar sliding out of him, but Sylar recovered quickly, picked him up again and began re-entry. Matt exhaled loudly and found himself able to turn his palms down and grab at the sheets as Sylar pressed him into the bed. Sylar took his sweet time getting all the way in and once he was, Sylar held him, fingers tapping his ass playfully. Matt lifted his head and looked at him.

“It’s one thing to know how things work. It’s another thing to know how the brain works when you open a person’s head and look inside for yourself. It’s beautiful,” Sylar said. He shifted his hips a little, smiling at the sensation that was shooting through his body and Matt was surprised by how huge Sylar felt inside of him. “It’s a whole,” he paused and thrusted once into Matt, testing the feeling. Matt managed to stifle his groan and Sylar thrusted again. “It’s a whole other thing when someone else is the one poking around. You should be careful about who you show off to. Someone’s liable to use it against you,” he paused for a moment, letting a hand settle back on Matt’s hip, thumb stroking his skin in a way that would be affectionate if it was done by any other person. “But don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the preview. I love seeing how it works from this side. Makes it easier to see through,” Sylar said and began rocking painfully slow, hand grazing Matt’s sideburn again and passing through his hair, thoughts divided between the yearning for telepathy and Mohinder’s curls between his fingers. Sylar’s other hand dropped to steady himself on the bed as he picked up speed.

“You’re kind of like a bull in a china shop,” Sylar said between thrusts and buried a laugh on his shoulder. Matt ignored the hot breath and the slick thrusts, concentrating instead on really busting up the china in Sylar’s shop, no matter how good Sylar felt inside of him. It was terrifying, being on his back, hips pushed up and off the bed, fingers dug deep into his thighs, utterly compromising and out of control in a way Matt hadn’t ever experienced before. Normally the needy groans of someone this close would be music to Matt’s ears. This was something else all together and it needed to stop right now, despite the way Matt couldn’t keep from echoing the noises Sylar was making.

“ _Sylar_ ,” Matt whispered in the way that he knew would send a zing up Sylar’s spine.

Sylar stopped and looked into the face of Mohinder who smiled lasciviously at him.

“Get off. Let me top,” Matt said under the guise of Mohinder with 5 o’clock shadow to his face. Sylar had appreciated the unkempt look Mohinder had the last time they’d met, bandaged and sleep deprived and faint grain climbing high on his face.

Sylar was clearly taken aback, wild curiosity and surprise dancing across his face. He ran his hand along Matt’s lean collarbone and ended with his fingers wrapped around his neck .

“ _Don’t_ do that,” Sylar said, staring into the brown eyes. Matt gasped as the fingers tightened, unrelenting in the facade, trying to pry further into his head before he blacked out.

 _Pull out. Get off,_ now.

Sylar clenched his jaw and Matt could hardly see beyond the blotted out surface of Sylar’s consciousness where he was picking through a myriad of anatomy textbooks he’d memorized, reading aloud as if in front of a classroom. It was for Matt’s benefit, explaining how he could die right now other than from an open skull. “I’d hate to see you suffocate or have an aneurysm,” he said, voice calm despite the fire in his eyes. He tightened his grip. “I’d have to work quickly to get what’s left inside your head before the tissue dies. I don’t like being rushed, so I suggest that you stop right now,” he said, hovering strangely close to the glamor of Mohinder’s lips. Sylar let go of his neck and Matt stared back, dumbfounded by Sylar’s blank expression and the growing white noise inside his head—had Sylar killed The Haitian? Matt couldn’t be sure because Sylar was definitely acting as if he was seeing Mohinder.

Sylar traced Matt’s lithe facsimile from sternum to ribs with pensive fingers, slowly brushing a dark nipple with his thumb, causing Matt’s heart to twist in his chest and legs automatically hook behind Sylar’s back. Sylar teetered above his face, hesitant about indulging in the illusion, but he knew it was an illusion, so it was alright for now; it’d be just a sample. Matt’s stomach fluttered and knotted up like he needed to blow chunks, but he was surprised by how he easily he suppressed the feeling by shutting his eyes when Sylar closed the gap between them.

Sylar embroiled Matt in a kiss that was hotter than hot, delicious in it’s roaming intensity of tongues and teeth that ferociously knocked together as Sylar resumed thrusting, though they both were more intent on battling for each other’s lips with each thrust. Sylar reached to hold his face, but his hands detoured and buried themselves in the illusory mass of curls—touching hair and jawline and the contours of his neck that wasn’t really his. Sylar was completely bursting at the seams with lust, his grinding turning frantic humping before Matt even had a chance to touch back. He was lost in Sylar’s rocking pace, overwhelmed, nearly sobbing in pleasure. He’d be coming so hard right now if he hadn’t been completely wrung out.

Sylar’s fingers laced behind Matt’s head and pulled him up into his arms, sliding out of him in the process. Matt unhooked his legs from Sylar’s back and his hands gravitated to brace themselves between Sylar’s shoulders as he landed on his ass in an excited bounce. Matt spread his legs and Sylar rolled onto his knees and inched forward, pressing his cock to Matt’s dark stomach, his thrusts more awkward and gentle. Sylar pulled his hands out of Matt’s hair, breath hitching, and traced the lean brown shoulders and arms until he tangled his hands in Matt’s. Matt pulled away to reach forward and trace Sylar’s jaw from his chin to his shoulder with a thumb that would feel like it wore an icy ring. Sylar grabbed the hand and guided to upright cock between them, forcing the fingertips to slowly navigate the firm muscles of his chest, against the fine hair around his navel and down his abdomen, over dried come, until they found his slick tip. Matt gathered him in his fist and pumped the hot member, but quickly became too frustrated from the lack of bodily contact. He pushed his weight into Sylar until their lips met again, forcefully wrangling for each other’s tongue, tumbling backwards together in a heap of arms and legs that slipped and knocked against each other from sweat. They landed with a heavy bounce and Matt pressing Sylar to the bed, into his wanting cock.

Sylar broke the kiss, looking disheveled, lips swollen and panting from excitement. Matt was bewildered by the electricity humming through his body. They held idle, breathing heavily into each other’s faces, Matt barely remembering he wore Mohinder’s skin. Sylar’s lips parted, about to speak, but he clasped his mouth shut, gaze travelling down Matt’s body. Sylar’s adam’s apple bobbed as Matt’s hand came up to touch his face again.

Sylar grabbed Matt’s hand before the thumb met his face, still staring into Matt’s mask. Matt tilted his head and Sylar heaved them both upright with relative ease.

The silence continued and the _oh shit_ feeling that descended upon Matt’s body was like a dam that’d just broke, cold water washing over his body and sweeping him downstream. Sylar’s grip tightened on his hand, though not to the point of pain yet.

They’d both snapped back to reality.

Sylar’s threat wasn’t so empty, Matt quickly realized. Blood vessels were so small and his telekinesis so refined that it was easy for him kill Matt slowly and surely. Sylar licked his lips, burning with resentment that Matt could barely see or read because there he didn’t know which of the two in his double vision was the real Sylar. They both looked doubly agitated. Matt could feel—he didn’t know _what_ he felt, but his eyes widened in shock, chest still heaving for air, trying to push the numbness of his fingertips away because he wasn’t going to die—not like this. Matt fucking hated that he had to reconsider his tactics yet again because didn’t know what else to do. Moreover, he couldn’t keep this up if he was dead so Matt reluctantly withdrew the image overlay Mohinder from Sylar’s mind.

Matt was too distracted on flexing his fingers for feeling to notice the disappointment that flicked across Sylar’s face as Matt’s true form returned. All that Matt could focus on was that the sick fuck wouldn’t accept any substitute for Mohinder unless it by his own doing.

He needed a different plan.

Sylar threw Matt’s hand to the side, thoroughly disgusted by his voluntary lapse in judgement and sat back on his haunches, trying to catch his own breath.

Matt swallowed painfully and instinctively, feeling the bruises already forming at his throat, surprised to remember the crushing sensation on his windpipe. He regarded Sylar with wary eyes. Sylar’s cock was still slick with lube and pre-come, body looking hot with impatience. Matt moved to kick Sylar in the stomach, but Sylar caught him by the foot and twisted him by the ankle until he cried out. Sylar grabbed his other leg and flipped him face down on the bed and crawled on top, pulling his hips up and pressing his cock to his ass, pushing into him again. He twined his fingers into Matt’s, but Matt was able to pull his hand away. He pillowed his head on his forearms and tried to buck Sylar off, but Sylar matched his movements, making noises that were akin to scratches on a chalkboard.

“I feel sorry for you,” Matt said, closing his eyes, trying to block out the now familiar sensation of Sylar inside of him.

“I’m not the one in denial,” Sylar said with a thrust. Matt craned his head to glare at Sylar whose was face several shades more red, sweat on his brow, far too close for comfort and looking like he was going to come any second. A second that wouldn’t be soon enough, except that Matt grew to appreciate the sweat lining his back and rhythm Sylar was setting.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Matt said and buried his head on his arm, trying to muffle his groan when Sylar began to pound in hard succession. There might have been a time when Matt would have enjoyed the sensation of balls flapping against his ass and his own jewels flapping in the wind, but it wasn’t now, not like this, with him. Not Sylar, no matter how good it was feeling. He was wrong to even accept the first brush of lips against his skin.

Sylar’s thrusts became jerkier and Matt could feel him seize up just before he came. Matt closed his eyes and Sylar’s forehead landed with a smack between his shoulder blades and a groan that made him break out in goosebumps. Sylar’s hips bucked uncontrollably as the orgasm rippled through their bodies. Sylar didn’t have to moan or think about Mohinder; the way he pulled Matt up into his arms and held him, fingers spread across his stomach and kiss pressed to his neck told Matt more than he was able to read all evening. He looked down at Sylar’s hand, hands that had wrought so much harm, broken so many homes and bodies. They were instruments of a decaying a man who was becoming less and less human, no matter how fast his heart beat before and during sex. Matt could barely swallow the lump in his throat while Sylar softened inside of him. He wanted to turn around to look him in the face again, but instead he elbowed him.

“You’re done, pull out.”

Sylar’s laugh was more like a tired huff and he complied, but not before he fondled Matt’s balls for extra measure, groaning happily at the noise his cock made sliding out. Sylar rolled next to him and stretched, reaching for a pillow and managing to snag Matt’s discarded shirt at the same time. Matt grabbed it from him and finally connected his fist to Sylar’s jaw.

Sylar recoiled, more in surprise than pain, and laughed at the banality. Matt wanted to give him another sock just for that.

Sylar tongued the inside of his bottom lip and sprawled out on the bed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sylar ran his hands down his chest and limp member and then locked his fingers behind his head.

“People seem to forget that when nobody knows that you exist, they can still watch you, study you from afar. I used to be an insanely boring man who fixed time pieces, but I could still watch people, see how they worked from the outside,” Sylar said and rolled onto his side and stared at Matt.

Matt pulled his shirt over his head and when he looked back at Sylar, he was smoothing a wrinkle from his pillow. He got up and began the hunt for his jeans, still wishing he knew where he left his gun before this all happened.

“Sit in a coffee shop or food court all day. You’ll learn things by observing human behavior, pick up on physical and emotional cues from the outside looking in,” Sylar said, crawling beneath the comforter now that Matt had gotten up. Matt threw him a distracted look.

Sylar followed his movements like he was watching a goldfish swim around his tiny bowl. Matt found his shoes and a denim heap. “The way they move, the way they smile and breathe,” Sylar said, settling back and glancing at the ceiling. Matt frowned as he followed his gaze while trying to shove a leg into his pants and nearly toppling over. Sylar’s nostalgia was unusual, off-putting, especially because of it’s sincerity that Matt was desperate to cleanse himself of. He grunted and managed to get the other leg in without a problem.

“Some of them were happier in their bodies than others. I never completely understood how life made their lives meaningful on the inside, so I ended up going back to my shop, to my mother, stuck in my normal, mundane life.”

Hands on the fly of his zipper, Matt looked up and gawked at Sylar. He couldn’t be seeing what he was reading.

“You don’t really expect me to snuggle during this conversation, do you?”

Sylar rolled his eyes and grabbed the other pillow, stuffing it behind him and propping himself against the headboard.

“And here I thought I couldn’t be surprised anymore,” Matt said with a rueful laugh.

Sylar adjusted the comforter and pulled his knees close to his body, trying to recover from the inane, yet honest question that he didn’t want to justify with an answer. Matt smirked, pleased to know that it was possible to rattle Sylar’s chain.

“Even before Chandra Suresh helped me discover my gift, it was fascinating to see how people worked on the outside. I didn’t understand people on the inside then, not from inside like I do now, not inside like you do—not yet anyway, but I still know people on a certain level. Know the way they work from the outside. So you can lie all you want, but I’m very interested in knowing if you believe your own lies.”

“Men are supposed to sleep after sex. It’s a known fact,” Matt said, wondering if Sylar knew where his gun was. Did he telekinetically yank it from his holster when he first arrived…? Did he even bring his gun? Matt couldn’t see any trace of it in Sylar’s thoughts, but that didn’t mean anything.

“How do you think I’m able to lie and pretend to be other people so well? They think it’s because of my gift or because I’m a psychopath—”

“You are,” Matt said.

“But it’s all about knowing people,” Sylar said.

Fully clothed, Matt moved to the bedroom door and wasn’t surprised when he couldn’t pull it open. Matt turned around only to find Sylar standing in front of him, limp cock dangling between his legs. Behind him the comforter and pillows were strewn across the floor.

“I already had a pretty good beat on you, but you helped me out with that. Losing control _really_ makes you project. I doubt you wanted me to hear your own thoughts, but I guess it was only fair since you could hear mine,” Sylar said and draped his arms around Matt’s neck. “I guess nobody can resist Mohinder’s charm.”

Sylar grinned, fingering the collar of Matt’s t-shirt. “Tell me, since I can’t read minds yet, can you make yourself see whatever you want?” Sylar leaned in close, delighted by the whole new sexual frontier he had available to play, and whispered, “Did you pretend I was Mohinder? You said his name, not aloud, but I know I didn’t imagine it.”

Control. Whatever the mind controls, he controls.

“I’m not the only one who lost control,” Matt said. He raised an eyebrow and caused Mohinder’s form to shimmer in front of Sylar’s eyes.

Sylar actually punched him without warning, knocking Matt’s concentration away, splitting his lip in the process. Sylar grabbed him by the chin and laughed.

“Nice, very nice way of avoiding the question,” Sylar said with a thoughtful nod.

“For someone who thinks he knows people, you’re still a lonely bastard,” Matt said. He spit the blood pooling in his mouth at Sylar’s face and shoved him.

“Oh, wait. It’s kind of hard to get to know people when you kill them all the time,” Matt said and made to charge Sylar except he feinted and spun until his back was facing the bed and matching night-stands, uneasy with how this might shape up. He threw a nervous glance over his shoulder, judging the distance and looked back at Sylar.

Sylar stumbled but regained his balance quickly, spinning to follow Matt’s trajectory, looking all the more pissed than before. He wiped the blood from his face with one hand while flinging the other in Matt’s direction. Matt predictably flew backwards, slamming into the night-stand, knocking over the photograph and the fluted lamp that broke with a fiery pop and lighting the shade on fire. He landed hard on broken glass that dug into the his palms.

“You sounded jealous, Parkman. Maybe if you’d used your ability on Mohinder or tried dyeing your hair goldenrod you would’ve had a chance. Too bad, I can see you working a push-up bra,” Sylar said with a grin that turned serious. He was going to lift and pin him to the wall above the burning shade, charmed by the theatrics of it all, nude and still literally and metaphorically on top. Matt had the overwhelming urge to get up and kick him in the balls.

Just as Sylar extended his arm towards him, Matt stood and foisted the image of him being thrown to the wall into Sylar’s mind. Sylar’s lips curled upward and he took a step closer, raising a second hand and pointing with the same finger that had fucked him, chuckling at the irony. Matt craned his head up at the empty space for a few moments and ducked out of Sylar’s way. He slowly walked backwards across the room, waiting for Sylar to turn at any moment. He didn’t think the image would hold long before Sylar’s mind began dissecting the wrong feeling he got when staring at it.

“It’s been fun, but all good things must come to an end,” Sylar said.

Matt got the door open and left without incident, passing through a hallway flanked by more family photos. Matt did a three-count before he cued the screaming inside Sylar’s head. Thankfully Sylar was still predictable enough to play into his hand.

Matt scanned the bathroom, second bedroom and kitchen. All were free of dead bodies. He stopped beside a rack full of jackets in the circular anteroom and peered into the living area. It was modestly art deco with white carpet and hard, angular cream sofas and a squat granite coffee table in the center. The evening twilight was sneaking through venetian blinds, orange sun sinking beneath the skyline, giving shape to the city. Matt was relieved not to find blood-stained carpet or brainless, frozen people sitting on the couch. He turned and high-tailed it out of the apartment and through the hallway. Sylar would still be digging his fingers into the image of his cracked skull, taking his time and enjoying that he’d been waiting for.

He passed the elevator, not wanting to give Sylar a chance to make his own Tower of Terror, snapped cables and all. Down the stairwell, Matt focused on keeping the image up; he wasn’t sure how proximity was going to factor into his escape, but the longer he could hold it, the better. After three floors Matt, huffing, tabled his panic. He was practically out of harm’s way. He could still hear Sylar’s thoughts at he worked, gleeful at the perceived he was going to work free from the skull casing. Matt nearly lost his grip on the railing when Sylar’s excitement spiked upon seeing blood and torn skin peel pull back from the image’s forehead. He couldn’t stand sticking around this long inside Sylar’s head, but it was just for a little while longer, a few more flights at least.

Matt stopped counting the floors because he suddenly felt a sharp sense of dread pass through him. The image had folded under the weight of Sylar’s eyes. He’d be standing naked, short of his coveted telepathy and probably very pissed off at being tricked. Matt didn’t know if Sylar could catch up by now, but that didn’t mean he slowed despite how ragged he felt. Matt reached the final flight of stairs and got a last burst of energy when he saw the blessed red exit sign hanging like a beacon above the door. He burst through and the lobby was a blur.

Revolving doors never looked more enticing.

Matt welcomed the noisy streets of the city, allowing himself to become enveloped in waves pollution, biting car honks and pedestrians. He started walking with current of people, not caring what direction he was going as long as he was getting as far away as possible. He wasn’t sure what to do next. He couldn’t imagine going back to Mohinder’s apartment and having dinner with him and Molly, pretending nothing had happened. They might not be expecting him back anyway. For all Matt knew, he could still be on the clock. On the other hand, Matt was definitely a fan of postcoital slumber, but he felt too dirty, too guilty to sleep. He still had no idea of The Haitian’s whereabouts, if he was dead or alive and still at Bennet’s beck and call. It was just as well. Matt wouldn’t want The Haitian to see the memories anyway when he yoinked them from his head.

After several blocks, Matt stood at the crosswalk waiting for the light to change. Looking around the unfamiliar neighborhood, he eyed the appealing yellow neon advertising the corner liquor store. He palmed his jeans pocket for his wallet and grimaced, forgetting the leftover glass embedded in his skin, a painful reminder he was going to be hard pressed to forget. He fished a few of the fragments out, but that just made him bleed all over. He blinked and sighed deeply and let his mind work out the image of perfectly healed hands that didn’t bleed, didn’t hurt, weren’t touched by a debauched killer, choosing to ignore the insanity of his life until he could stop at the drugstore for some bandages and head to the bar for a couple dozen shots that would do what The Haitian could do any day.


End file.
